Professor Layton: On the Case
by Mister Takeda
Summary: After a series of brutal murders, Maya Fey is sent to enlist the help of brilliant professor, and dangerous serial killer, Professor Layton. Bedlam ensues, as the thin, tortured line between sanity and madness quickly vanishes into the ether.


"No touching. No sharp objects. No puzzles."

Chelmey removed a book of Sudoku puzzles from Maya's bag.

"I thought I might get bored waiting for my interview."

Chelmey just wagged his fingers, putting the rumpled paper book in a plastic bin.

"Let's make one thing clear, before you go in there, Ms. Fey. Layton is not a typical inmate. We've had a series of incidents with him. In '87, he complained of chest pains. When we brought him to the infirmary, the nurse made a mistake of turning her back on him."

A grim look crossed the constable's face.

"By the time the guards broke down the door, she looked like this."

Maya gasped when he showed her the photos.

"We were able to save one of her eyes. She quit shortly afterward. She's institutionalized now. Won't even leave her room. Says the world is too full of puzzles."

Chelmey stroked his Hitleresque mustache.

"He likes women, Ms. Fey. And I'm afraid you're just his type. He might open up to you, but anything he says is a blatant attempt to control you. Remember that."

"Yes, Inspector Chelmey, I'll remember that."

"Be careful, Miss. That's all."

Chelmey opened the gates.

Maya Fey walked the dismal halls of the institution. It looked like a dungeon. The bleak stone walls meant to hold monsters, not the walls of a medical facility. She heard the distant laughter of inmates, smelling their feces, their noisy desperation in her ears.

A horrible warbling noise erupted as she passed one of the dingy cells on her right. She looked inside and saw an enormous gorilla, naked except for his oversized neck tie. He growled at her, sounding like a 8-bit garbage disposal.

"Wwrrrwooo! Wrrrrwooo!" He barked, stroking his oversized banana as she passed.

Maya cringed. Black people had always made her nervous, and she was thankful she existed in a universe where so few of them existed. She heard tales of other platforms where wild echidnas and surly hedgehogs menaced Japanese women without recourse; nothing like the tolerably friendly Doc Louis, comedic and harmless, but dangerous, hyper sexual beasts living on the edge.

A shadowy figure interrupted her racist train of thought. The shadows clung to him as he spoke.

"Good morning," he said, with a voice befitting a proper English gentlemen.

"Professor Layton? I'm Maya Fey, psychic investigator."

"You're one of Phoenix Wright's, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Can I see your credentials?"

"No. I don't have any. I'm a psychic investigator."

"No paralegal training? No investigator's license?"

"No. I just see ghosts."

"Charming.. Now, what did D.K. say to you?"

"Nothing. He just made a lot of noises. They seemed lewd though."

"He said, 'I can smell your fanny.' I, for one, cannot, and even if I could, I would not point it out. Not a gentlemanly thing to say, you see." He grinned sinisterly, tipping the brim of his top hat.

"Uh.."

"Tell me, Ms. Fey, do you enjoy puzzles?"

"That's why I'm here, Professor."

"Because I have a puzzle for you: What is Japan's greatest defense attorney doing sending his underqualified, dubiously gifted assistant to the cell of England's most celebrated serial killer?"

"We need your help, Dr. Layton."

"Not interested." The figure turned his back.

"Wait till you've heard all the details. I'm told you'd find this case especially interesting."

"Oh? What do you have for me?"

Maya pushed a photo of the crime scene up to the glass. It was of a young elf, nude and pale, slumped against the wall with a spent syringe hanging out of his arm. Semen stains dotted the victim's body, matting his blonde hair, and drawing thin lines across his chest.

The killer turned, scanning the photo, taking it in.

"Was the victim HIV positive?"

"Yes."

"Did the killer leave any riddles?"

"No.."

"Any formulas written in their semen?"

"No!"

"A post card containing a word puzzle, perhaps?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Hmm.." The killer stroked his chin. "Quite strange."

"It's a homicide, professor Layton. That sort of thing rarely happens."

"Not in my experience, child. Every killer worth his salt leaves some puzzle, some clue as to their identity, or, at the very least, a hint from which the next step in the investigation can be derived."

"Like evidence?"

"Like word scrambles!"

"No. The killer just left the body there, covered in his semen. The apartment wasn't robbed. DNA analysis tells us nothing. The only thing missing was the victim's hat."

"His hat, you say?" His beady eyes widened.

"Yes, Professor. You see, we believe this isn't the first time this has happened. We believe this is a serial killing. All the victims were killed in a similar fashion, with a large dose of tainted heroine, and always missing their hat."

"What did his ghost have to say, Ms. Fey? Surely you know that much."

"He shouted for a while, then he spun around, and before I could ask him about the details, he flew away on a giant bird. It wasn't much help, really."

"Did the bird have a puzzle, perchance?"

"No."

The professor charged the glass, his seemingly cool demeanor melting into a fit of rage.

"LISTEN HERE, YOU WENCH! EVERY EVENT, NO MATTER HOW TRIVIAL, RESULTS IN A PUZZLE FOR ME TO SOLVE! EVERY CRIME IS A PUZZLE! YOU ARE KEEPING THINGS FOR ME! YOU WERE SENT HERE BY THAT FOOL, CHELMEY, TO TORTURE ME! TELL ME THE GOD DAMNED PUZZLE BEFORE I EAT YOUR EYES!"

The beast in the cell over began beating his chest, climbing the walls in a desperate search to find barrels. Across from him, a pink blob began robotically inhaling the pages torn from a pornographic magazine.

An alarm sounded and burly men began poured into the hallway, ushering the dazed psychic out, her last glimpse of the melee, a fire hose drenching the gorilla as it frothed at the mouth.

* * *

"Why did you send me there?!" Maya slammed her fists on her employer's desk.

"Because, I needed to know."

"Know what, asshole?"

"I needed to know if you could cut it."

"So this was all a test?" the psychic asked.

"Yes." The attorney sat smug behind his desk.

"What about your client?"

"Guilty, clearly."

"Who is your client, anyway? This just seems like a routine murder investigation?"

"Why was a police officer running an institution for the criminally insane? Why was a gorilla locked up in an institution made exclusively for humans? The world is full of questions, sugar tits. The point is, you passed the test."

"Sugar tits?! What the hell?!"

"Now, who wants to give this slick investigating attorney a blowjob? Anyone?"

"URGH!"

"Down in the front!" the attorney stood, unzipping his pants.

Then the moon crashed into the world and everybody died, horribly.


End file.
